for disappointing me."

"I can allow for your feelings, Hester. I have known too well what
disappointment is, not to feel for you. But here the fault is not
mine."

"Whose is it then? It is to be charged upon Providence, I suppose, like
most of our evils."

"No, Hester; I charge it upon you. The disappointment was unavoidable;
but the sting of it lies in yourself. You are unreasonable. It is at
your own request that I remind you to be reasonable."

"And when was that request made? When I believed that you would hold me
your friend--that no others were to come near my place in your
confidence--that all you cared for was to be equally mine--that your
brother himself was to be my brother. It was when you promised me these
things that I put my conscience and my feelings into your charge. But
now all that is over. You are as much alone in your own soul as ever,
and I am thrust out from it as if you were like other men... Oh!" she
cried, covering her face with her hands, "call me your housekeeper at
once--for I am not your wife--and breathe not upon my conscience--look
not into my heart--for what are they to you? I reclaim from you, as
your servant, the power I gave you over my soul, when I supposed I was
to be your wife."

"Now you must hear me, Hester. Sit down; for you cannot stand under the
tempest of your own feelings. Now, what are the facts out of which all
this has arisen? I have had a letter, written before we were known to
be engaged, containing something which is confided to my honour. We had
both rather that such had not been the case. Would you now have me
violate my honour? Let us have done. The supposition is too
ridiculous."

"But the manner," pleaded Hester. "It is not curiosity about the
letter. I care nothing if it contained the affairs of twenty nations.
But, oh! your manner was cruel. If you loved me as you once did, you
could not treat me exactly as you treat Margaret and Philip. You do not
love me as you once did... You do not answer me," she continued in a
tone of wretchedness. "Nay, do not answer me now. It will not satisfy
me to hear you say upon compulsion that you love me. Ah! I had
Margaret once; and once I had you. Philip has taken my Margaret from
me; and if you despise me, I will lie down and die."

"Fear not!" said Hope, with great solemnity. "While I live you shall be
honoured, and have such rest as you will allow to your own heart. But
do you not see